


Yacht Party

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Gattaca (1997)
Genre: Eugene Lives, Gen, Post-Canon, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 14:43:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12819774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: Anton never knew Jerome Morrow (and now his brother) owned a yacht until he received an invitation to a "Welcome Home From Titan" party in the mail.





	Yacht Party

Anton figures there’s no surer way to break ties with a relation than to have an argument the night before one of them blasts into space. He doesn’t go to watch the launch—it would be suspicious if he did, really—but he does occasionally check on the Gattaca database to see how it’s been going, using his FBI clearance to see information he really shouldn’t have access to. He worries every moment that Vincent is up there, but when the launch returns a year later, he doesn’t call Vincent or go to see him. The ties are broken, after all. He, an FBI agent, can have nothing to do with a degenerate, and judging by the news (because Anton is keeping close tabs on Vincent now) he’s not doing anything to come clean about his real identity.

So they must stay apart.

That’s Anton’s opinion, and he figures Vincent must agree with him (especially after the way they parted) until two weeks after Vincent’s return from Titan he receives a letter in the mail.

“ _You Are Invited_

_To: A welcome home party to celebrate Jerome Morrow’s return from Titan_

_When: August 3, 7:00 PM-???_

_Where: The Morrow private yacht…”_

It goes on to give details of what sort of party it will be and the address of the dock. There is a signature in Jerome Morrow’s handwriting. Anton wonders if he checked the letter and envelope for DNA whether that would belong exclusively to Jerome Morrow too. Probably.

Well. He didn’t know Jerome Morrow owned a yacht.

He also didn’t expect Vincent to invite him to any sort of gathering like this. For that matter, should Vincent really be holding a party? The nerve required to parade about in public under a false identity…but then, he’s already been to Titan under the name of Jerome Morrow. Holding an informal gathering is miniscule compared to that.

Still. Anton’s invalid brother, milling around with the social elite, probably wearing an expensive suit and drinking champagne and smoking cigarettes (both of which are bad for his health) and making patronizing comments about how going to one of Jupiter’s moons really wasn’t such a big deal after, people went into space all the time. It’s a wild idea: almost hilarious when Anton thinks about the future their parents expected for Vincent, terrifying when he considers how easily the façade could break down, alluring when he allows himself to be happy that Vincent has come this far.

But can Anton really play into this kind of masquerade?

* * *

 

Apparently he can.

He wears his best suit (FBI salary is not as good as the typical salary at Gattaca, which chafes a little when he thinks what Vincent probably got paid to go to Titan) and drives out to the yacht club the night of. He’s ushered onto the yacht by Irene Cassini, a woman he remembers who apparently has taken charge of welcoming guests. He wonders if she and Vincent are still together. She knows Vincent is a degenerate, certainly, so at least she’s one person he doesn’t have to worry about revealing Vincent’s secret—if she hasn’t by now she probably won’t in the future. Again he wonders how Vincent is living such a glamorous life compared to Anton, who has no significant other at all, but he pushes the thought aside.

Tonight is Vincent’s night, or rather, Jerome’s.

The yacht is medium size and very crowded. It won’t be leaving the dock tonight, but the feeling of luxury remains: It’s a yacht. Vincent’s showing off his wealth, his (fake) status, and the guests are lapping it up—he stands surrounded by about ten different people trying to get close and talk to him. Anton approaches, listens from a couple feet away. He hasn’t heard Vincent’s voice in a long time. It’s still smooth and earnest, the same as ever, with only the barest hint of over-excitement as he describes what it was like to disembark from his ship when it landed on Titan.

He wanders away to pick up a glass of champagne for himself and check out the hors d’oeuvres. As he bites into a piece of shrimp Irene plucks at his sleeve. He raises his eyebrows. She doesn’t change her expression as she turns away and leads him towards the yacht’s cabin, which has been marked as off-limits for the night.

For a moment he thinks, as she unlocks the door, that he’s about to be dragged into an illicit liaison, that Irene remembers his light flirtation from the last time they met and she’s done with Vincent or has some other reason for hooking up with his brother in an abandoned corner of his own yacht. But the fancy fades as he enters and finds himself face to face with, well…

Jerome Morrow.

Funny how he’d forgotten the man. He got caught up in his brother’s illusion, and forgot all about the man he met with the Morrow blood running in his veins, real Morrow blood. Some part of him imagined that Jerome Morrow was a will-o’-the-wisp, only surfacing when Vincent needed him and otherwise quietly existing on some other plane, not a real man at all. But here he sits on a comfortable armchair in the tiny cabin, smiling at Anton as he enters. He beckons Anton to sit down on a slightly less comfortable chair behind a desk. Clearly the seat of a captain or someone with authority.

Anton turns back to Irene, but she’s already vanished, and closed the door behind her. Part of him wonders if she locked it, if he’s locked in—well, that’s irrelevant. He isn’t about to leave. Jerome Morrow doesn’t frighten him, as ghoulish as his existence seems.

He skirts the desk and sits behind a pile of papers, some of them RSVPs to invitations, some of them maps or other nautical items. None of them private. Vincent can’t spend a lot of time in here.

“Do you like Jerome’s yacht?” Jerome Morrow says cheerfully.

Are they going to play that game? Even here, even now?

Unsure how to confront him on the lie, Anton says, “It’s something.” He sits back. “Did you, uh…did you help him organize this?”

“Made nearly all the phone calls,” Jerome says with a dismissive shrug. “You wouldn’t guess it but he hates attention. Irene and I arranged the whole thing, didn’t even tell him till we’d sent out the invitations. One could say I’m his secretary.” He extends a hand in Anton’s direction. “Call me Eugene.”

Jerome Morrow’s middle name, according to the records. Anton expects Eugene to at least get out of the chair partway to shake hands, but he doesn’t, and Anton is forced to do so instead. Power move.

He’s beginning to remember how little he liked Eugene the last time they met.

“So he didn’t even want to put on this spectacle but you pushed him into it. Did you even think about the risk?”

Eugene takes out a cigarette and considers it critically. “Mm…Not really. Jerome thrives on risks, you know. We’re used to them by now.”

Still calling him Jerome. “It’s dangerous. Shouldn’t you take better care of him?” He’d always heard borrowed ladders only worked with close partnerships. But Eugene acts like this is all a game.

“Jerome can take care of himself.”

“Vincent,” Anton says pointedly, “is a man with a serious heart condition and a life expectancy he’s already exceeded, who has committed a felony worthy of a life sentence. Do you ever think about that?”

Eugene laughs and lights his cigarette. He takes a single puff, smiles at Anton. “Let your brother live a little.”

“Live?” The calmer Eugene acts the angrier Anton gets. He thought he was over this, thought he’d accepted Vincent’s path. But he isn’t over it at all. “This is not a life. This is surviving, this is hiding.”

“This is a party on a yacht.”

“You can’t think this will last.”

Eugene continues to smoke. He does not answer.

Anton shakes his head. “I can’t understand how a man like you could corrupt a man like him.”

“I think he was already corrupted enough when we met. If that’s what you want to call it.” Eugene takes the cigarette out of his mouth and sighs. “I called you in here…”

“So you tell Miss Cassini what to do? Is that it?”

“…to ask you how you plan on treating Jerome from now on. That’s why I invited you tonight too, by the way. Jerome was going to wait for you to contact him. I thought it might be better to be proactive. I waited a year to see if you’d say anything, and you didn’t. That means you’re willing to lie for him. Am I right?”

And Anton has to nod because as little as he likes to admit it to a man like this, that’s true. He’d cover up murder for Vincent, damn it—if he has to play along with a farce like this one, it irks him but in comparison it’s nothing.

“Jerome needs people in his life he doesn’t have to lie to,” Eugene says. “Go on out and talk to him. But don’t make me regret inviting you.” He gives a little nod and gestures to the door.

Has Anton really just been given the equivalent of “if you hurt him I’ll kill you” from an unrepentant criminal? Somehow, it’s actually a little intimidating. Anton gets up. “Are you going to join the party?” It seemed a little ridiculous for him to just stay in here.

“In a little while I might. Call myself a distant relative or his real secretary. Act like you don’t know me. Gawk, if you want.”

But why would he…

“Get on now.” Eugene gestures to the door again, and this time Anton obeys.

He approaches Vincent with more confidence now. Uses his “official business” stride, and the circle parts for him. He can see alarmed recognition on Vincent’s face, and it hurts (he really thought Vincent was the one to invite him to this) but he swallows it down.

“Congratulations on a successful journey, Jerome Morrow,” he says. “I’m Agent Anton Freeman. We met last year.”

He holds out his hand. Dazed, Vincent shakes it.

“Yes, I remember. My…secretary…?”

“I was honored to be invited. Of course our agency supports all of Gattaca’s efforts.” He struggles to smile and adds, “I admired your work on the equations for your voyage as well. Of course, math is not my strong suit.”

Vincent nods slowly. He clears his throat. “I’d be happy to talk about them at some time with you, if you have an interest. Perhaps later.”

Here there are too many people to talk about anything.

“Of course. Well, I only wanted to say congratulations.”

He fades back out of the group, back to the hors d’oeuvres. More shrimp—it’s quite good, really. He doesn’t know whether Vincent will be able to talk later tonight or if that means they’ll have to meet some other time to have a conversation in private. Either way, they’re mending their bridges. It’s more than he could have imagined. Yes, Vincent is living a richer life than Anton had ever pictured, and Anton gets a chance to live it with him.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt "Gattaca, gen, boat ride." It totally doesn't fill the prompt, but I've been wanting Anton fic for ages, especially fic about Anton talking to Eugene and/or reuniting with Vincent. So I kind of just did what I wanted to do. As per usual.  
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated! Or check me out on tumblr at convenientalias.


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